


crank up the speed

by orphan_account



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Bakery AU, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, Memes, side pairings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-18
Updated: 2017-08-18
Packaged: 2018-12-17 02:11:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11841798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: (“Okay— fine, but—” Mingyu stutters, then finally gives up on finesse and just snaps, “my cookies are fabulous. Do not. Question it.”“I’m sure they are,” Minghao says. “It’s just that mine are better.”“I have ninety-four percent customer satisfaction,” Mingyu hisses. “Ninety-four percent.”Minghao scoffs. “That’s probably just because you’re hot.” Wait. What?)[Minghao's a pastry chef at the Mix Unit, and he's got three things to tell you: (1) it's a nice place, with the exception of Kim Mingyu, who's a fucking asshole; (2) Minghao's not attracted to Mingyu whatsoever, despite what Jun might have to say, and (3) Jisoo suffers a whole lot and deserves a fucking break.]





	crank up the speed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bedroomdemos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bedroomdemos/gifts).



> nat- thank you for being my friend!! you're amazing!! this is just a trainwreck of svt memes and bakery crack please forgive me i tried... man gyuhao's such a cute ship though i can't believe i dabbed my way into this hell 
> 
> to all the lovely carats in chicago: have fun at diamond edge tonight [flips up my rose quartz and serenity shades] [picks up my rose quarts and serenity mic] aight let's go!!

This is the weirdest job interview that Minghao has ever been to.

Granted, it’s the _only_ job interview that Minghao’s been to, but he’s pretty sure this isn’t protocol. The folder containing his shitty application and resume has been discarded off to the side of the flour-covered table, and two people are sitting on anything _but_ the chairs while eating his cookies.

If there’s anything Minghao’s confident in, it’s his cookies. Crunchy at the outsides and soft at the center, chocolate chips melting into sweet gold like dark stars in a chewy sky. (He used to be more confident in his breakdancing, but things have changed.)

“These are really fucking good,” Soonyoung says. He’s one of the owners of The Mix Unit, this guy with eyes that point upward like the hands of a clock at 10:10 and bright flame-colored hair. He’s talking like he’s at a house party offhandedly commenting on the refreshments, as if Minghao isn’t _right here_. “Like these are _really_ good.”

“I’d die for these,” Seokmin agrees. He’s the other owner, usually stands at the front and ushers people in, with a killer smile that rivals the overhead lamps. Currently, there’s someone covering for him. Minghao fidgets with the hem of his shirt as Seokmin gets up with his half-eaten cookie in hand and calls out to the cafe, “Jihoon!”

Minghao stares out of the doorway, apprehensive. One of the guys sitting at the bakery, presumably Jihoon, rips the headphones out of his laptop. He looks exceedingly annoyed. “What,” he says, standing up. The red hair and murderous expression are _almost_ enough to override the fact that he’s like, probably not tall enough to ride the tallest roller coaster at your standard amusement park.

“I need you to try out these cookies,” Seokmin says, pointing at his own.

Jihoon scowls. “I’m trying to figure out the chorus for this song, don’t—”

“These cookies are _inspirational_.” Seokmin’s obviously used to Jihoon’s demeanor. Minghao ducks his head down, wondering what exactly is happening. He can’t say he regrets coming here, though. They like his cookies.

A few seconds later, Jihoon comes into the room, followed by someone unfamiliar, a guy with soft caramel-colored hair and an open expression. “Seungkwan,” Soonyoung chides, “no one asked you.”

“I heard there were cookies. I’m automatically included in this discussion.” He flips his hair out of his eyes. Seokmin giggles.  

“Fine, you get a cookie,” Soonyoung grumbles, although he obviously doesn’t actually mind.

Seokmin takes two cookies off of the plate and hands one each to Seungkwan and Jihoon. Minghao watches the spectacle with a bland expression on his face; he’s mildly curious about what test he’s being subjected to and also slightly worried that he might fail. Although…

Seungkwan reacts first. It’s kind of like watching a variety show unfold, the way his mouth drops open and his eyes go wide, “Oh my god,” he says, and Minghao allows his mouth to quirk up in a half smile. Seungkwan takes another theatrical bite. “ _Oh my god_. This tastes like how Red Velvet sounds. _Oh my god_.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Minghao says, and Seungkwan looks at him like he just realized he was there, and also like he was made entirely out of diamonds.  

“You made these? Are you kidding?” Seungkwan asks. He swoons. “ _Marry me_.”

Soonyoung snaps, “You can’t just ask Minghao to marry you, you need to take him out to dinner first. And anyway, I have first dibs.”

Seungkwan rolls his eyes. “Since when, just because you’re his potential employer—”

Jihoon, at the sidelines, finishes his cookie in a couple more bites, wiping his hands on his pants. His face doesn’t really change, but Seokmin, Soonyoung, and Seungkwan all immediately shut up, waiting for his verdict. He brushes a stray crumb off his jeans. “Hire him. If you don’t, I’m never coming here again.”

Soonyoung gestures at him with a whisk he found laying around. “You’re not _that_ special,” he says, and Jihoon rolls his eyes like, _you know I am_.

“Sorry,” Seokmin apologizes to Minghao, with this brilliant grin. “This is probably really weird for you.” Minghao gives a small shrug. It’s not like he _minds_ ; things are looking pretty good as of now.

“Unfortunately,” Soonyoung says, a few seconds later, “Jihoon is one of our regulars, and he’s kind of famous— have you heard of Woozi?— so. You’re hired.”

He fishes a business card out of his pocket, a shiny plastic rectangle with the words _The Mix Unit_ written in curly script and the logo right underneath. He beams a mega-watt grin that probably makes people fall all over him. “My name is Kwon Soonyoung, and you can call me soon.”

Minghao walks out of the bakery a little dazed.

\---  

“Is it just me, or did that sound like a pick-up line?” Seungkwan says, wide-eyed.

“As much as I hate agreeing with you, it did,” Jihoon says, and Seungkwan smirks. Soonyoung wails and hides his face in his knees. “You probably scared him off. He’s not going to call, and then I won’t get my cookies. This is a mess.”

Soonyoung says into his pants. “I wasn’t _trying_ to pick him up—”

“I know you weren’t, babe,” Seokmin comforts, and Jihoon pretends to gag.

“And his cookies were _amazing_ and I was just trying to be clever—”

“That was probably not a professional first impression, no, but I think it’ll be fine,” Seokmin says. His voice is soft, soothing. “He seemed to like this place.”

\---

Minghao does, in fact, call, and Soonyoung apologizes profusely for his unintentional pickup line. “I’m really sorry. I swear, I’m not like this, I won’t get grease all over your cake pans— that sounded like an innuendo, didn’t it.”

“I mean, now that you mention it,” Minghao says. “But it’s fine. When do I start?”

Perhaps in honor of his apology, Soonyoung doesn’t mention the moaning noises on Minghao’s end of the line, because his roommate Jun didn’t realize he was on call and started rehearsing a particularly incriminating scene right in the middle of discussing pay.

Jun is practically an embarrassing older brother to him, which is why Minghao wants to strangle him on a daily basis. He pays his part of the rent, though.

Minghao starts on Monday at five. He peels himself off the mattress thirty minutes before and heads out, yawning. When he gets to the shop, he finds Seokmin waiting for him outside the glass doors, gesturing for him to come inside.

Currently, they’re closed— The Mix Unit doesn’t open until seven. The display cases are half-empty and the tables are neatly folded up against the walls. Minghao feels like the shop: most systems powered down, still stuck in a tired dream. Seokmin, on the other hand, looks like he’s ready to roll, bright enough to power up the whole city.

“Hello,” Minghao says, trying to shake off the thick sound of sleep that surrounds every syllable he says.

“Hi!” Seokmin greets. He shuffles around nervously, like he’s not accustomed to giving people orders. Maybe he isn’t. “You’ll be, um, working in the back.”

Minghao nods. “Okay.”

Seokmin produces two aprons and a hat wrapped in shiny plastic packaging.The aprons are identical except for the inverted coloring, both with the logo and name written neatly across the front. The hat is one of the classic puffy ones that looks like it was ripped straight off an emoji keyboard.

“Uniform,” Seokmin explains, “You can wear any one of the aprons, it doesn’t really matter, since they’ll get covered in flour real fast. Um— what else?” He hands Minghao a packet, says, “This is a list of the products we sell.”

Seokmin looks a little bit lost. Someone pokes his head out of the back, this guy with a soft smile and catlike eyes. Apparently everyone who works at this bakery is gorgeous. Must be something in the flour. “We’re running low on almond extract, just—” the guy stops, saying to Minghao, “Oh, hey! You’re the one they just hired?”

Minghao nods, halfway tangled in his new apron. The guy beams, a softer version of Seokmin’s megawatt smile. “I’m Jisoo. The cake artisan, although I am also unofficially in charge of the background music because no one else here has any taste.”

“We’re old,” Seokmin protests. “Although I don’t see what was so wrong with that Michael Jackson track that Chan selected—”

“ _Anyway_ ,” Jisoo says, effectively cutting Seokmin off. “I’m one-fifth, well, I mean one-sixth now, of the staff. I’m pretty sure you just need to meet Chan, but he’s not here until later, and Mingyu, the other pastry chef besides you.”

“Mingyu!” Seokmin hollers. “Get out here!”

Someone dashes out of the back. Really tall, enough that with the baker’s hat he could unofficially be considered part of Seoul’s skyline. “Oh, we got someone new?” he says excitedly, face lighting up. He’s got a bowl of batter in his hand, attempting to zigzag across the room and whisk the ingredients at the same time, and Minghao predicts the following events before they even occur. Mingyu takes an awkward misstep, tripping over nothing, and the bowl flies through the air. Its very wet contents slop all over Minghao and get everywhere _but_ the apron.

There is complete and utter silence.

“I’ll get the mop,” Jisoo mumbles, and Mingyu stares at him with a comically frozen expression. Minghao wipes some batter out of his hair— how much shampoo is he going to need tonight? And then Mingyu breaks out into _laughter_ , hands on his knees.

“I’m so sorry,” Mingyu wheezes, in between trying to stifle his giggles and miserably failing. “Oh my god, I have no idea why I’m laughing. This is not funny. I’m so sorry.”

“Uh,” Minghao says, raising an unimpressed eyebrow, and Seokmin interjects with an awkward, “We need to start working now, guys.” Mingyu, blushing uncontrollably with one last _I’m so sorry_ , hurriedly ducking into the back room. Minghao sighs, attempts to wipe the batter off his pants, and follows.

\---

It’s three days into Minghao’s new job and the most prominent thing about the bakery is that the entire staff is extremely _weird_. Even Jisoo’s normalness is just a facade. But somehow, despite personality, the Mix Unit is extremely profitable business-wise, which makes Minghao think that everyone does a lot more work than they let on.

Minghao works in the back with Jisoo and Mingyu, and they don’t really talk as of yet beyond things like _pass the flour_ and _where the hell is the almond extract_. They haven’t really known each other long enough to be too comfortable.

Every morning, Jisoo arranges the display cases and then huddles over his pastries, diligently piping. He’s quiet in an inexplicable way; like, he talks and everything and his volume is normal, but there’s something so peaceful about him. Calm. There’s the hum of background music and the sound of people asking for their morning coffee, but Jisoo is like. A pool of serenity. Or some anime shit.

Mingyu, on the other hand.

He’s like a constant generator of noise. Minghao understands that there’s a certain decibel level associated with baking, but Mingyu is a _lot_. Slap, thump, slosh. There’s a poster near Mingyu’s side of the room, four sides crudely cut, and written in Sharpie are the words “WASH YOUR GODDAMN HANDS, KIM MINGYU.”

Minghao doesn’t even _want_ to know. But he does. All too soon.

A sneeze reverberates through the room. It’s not even a particularly loud sneeze, but it functions like a bomb drop. Mingyu removes his hands from his face and Jisoo orders, “Mingyu. Do not touch. The dough.”

Minghao stares in horror. A soft _oh my god_ falls from his mouth, and Mingyu guiltily pads over to the other side of the room and turns on the sink, and there’s an awkward thirty seconds where Minghao and Jisoo just watch Mingyu lathering up his hands with soap and rinsing them under the faucet. Only after Mingyu pulls on a different pair of gloves does he speak.

“I—” Mingyu says, looking at Minghao but not _really_ looking at Minghao, “I use my elbow most of the time. I swear.”

“Okay,” Minghao says, because he’s at a loss for words. “Okay.”

Minghao drops his head on the table, and when he comes up, his entire forehead is covered with flour. Jisoo accidentally squeezes the pastry bag too hard and a dot of frosting ends up on the ceiling. Mingyu says, “I’m not usually this incompetent. Please believe me.”

Minghao gives a hesitant nod— _yeah, okay dude, whatever you say—_ and then returns to mixing the batter. No one says anything after that for a long time.

\---

Minghao doesn’t really have an actual problem with Mingyu until two days later. Until then, his opinion of Mingyu had been— well, not _good_ , exactly, but if he was on fire Minghao would at least dump the contents of his water bottle on him rather than drink it, probably— but then it completely derails.

“We got a special order for cookies,” Jisoo tells them. “One hundred.”

“Oh, okay,” Mingyu says, just as Minghao says distractedly, “Yeah, I can handle that.”

“No, I’ve got this, you don’t need to,” Mingyu says, but Minghao’s already approached Jisoo and taken the packet with the order details out of his hand. Jisoo bites his mouth, looking like an anxious popcorn emoji, if that was a thing.

Mingyu raises his eyebrows, pursing his lips. “Listen,” he says casually, “I’ve done the special orders for over a year now.”

“Well, they must’ve hired me for a reason, right?” Minghao says, just as casually, flicking through the packet. His eyes aren’t even absorbing the text.

“You’re not implying that my pastries are sub-par, are you?”

“I’m not implying anything,” Minghao says, hand still firmly around the order form. Mingyu’s eyes smolder. “But I’m just saying, I got hired for my cookies.”

“Right, okay, so of course that completely overrides my area of expertise,” Mingyu says, pretense of politeness crumbling and the sarcasm bleeding through. He leans over and tries to yank the form out of Minghao’s tight grasp. “Listen, dude, I don’t know if you can handle it, this family’s one of our biggest regulars.”

Something snaps, brittle, and the temperature plunges fifty degrees.

“Seokmin and Soonyoung had a taste test when they hired me,” Minghao shoots back. Somewhere in the back of his mind he registers how _childish_ his voice is coming out, but he can’t stop. “This guy, Seungkwan asked for my _hand in marriage_ , and—”

“Oh, I know Seungkwan. He proposes to anyone who gives him baked goods.” Mingyu’s eyes gleam when Minghao stumbles.

“And Jihoon said he’d stop coming to the bakery if they didn’t hire me,” Minghao retorts, recovering from his momentary falter.

“Okay— fine, but—” Mingyu stutters, then finally gives up on finesse and just snaps, “my cookies are _fabulous._ Do not. Question it.”

“I’m sure they are,” Minghao says. “It’s just that mine are better.”

“I have ninety-four percent customer satisfaction,” Mingyu says. “ _Ninety-four percent_.”

Minghao scoffs. “That’s probably just because you’re hot.” _Wait. What_?

It’s almost comical, how quickly Mingyu’s expression morphs from angry to confused to smug. He opens his mouth to send a snappy retort, although it doesn’t even _have_ to be snappy given how much material Minghao has just given him to work with, but fortunately Jisoo cuts in before anything else can go down.

“Alright,” Jisoo says, “listen, I’m just the guy who arranges the cookies nicely on the platter, but you guys could like? Co-bake? The order?”

Minghao squirms. Jisoo’s face might be a little pale but his tone of voice is steady, the voice of a parent who’s trying to corral two skirmishing toddlers. And logically, Minghao _knows_ that it’s a perfectly reasonable suggestion. He’s perfectly aware of how immature his and Mingyu’s argument sounded, but something about Mingyu just completely broke Minghao’s usual calm.

Jisoo’s looking at them, though.

“Fine,” Mingyu says, gritting his teeth.

“Okay,” Minghao also says, putting as much reluctance as physically possible into that one syllable.

“Let’s go bake some fucking cookies, then,” Mingyu says, like he’s _daring_ Minghao, and Minghao maintains eye contact as he rips the wrapping off of a stick of butter. Jisoo looks like he’s fearing for his life, but he forces his gaze back down to the little instruments he’s making out of fondant with a set expression.

It takes precisely two minutes for them to realize this isn’t happening.

They’ve never baked anything _together_ before. Always, they would split up the list of products in the morning and head off to the respective stations, so neither of them really knew how the other worked. And of course Mingyu’s baking strategies would be in complete opposition to Minghao’s, because the universe won’t give him a break.

Minghao resists the urge to massage his temples because that isn’t hygienic and he’s not the unsanitary one here. He just says, in a very low, very _done_ tone of voice, “You don’t use measuring cups?”

“I do not, no,” Mingyu says, staring him down. “Do you have a problem with that?”

Minghao does, in fact, have a problem with that. When his knee finally gave out on him, rendering him unable to dance, he’d ended up baking for its precision. He lived off of exact measurements, the way certain amounts and times and pressures would guarantee him good results.

The way Mingyu is haphazardly tossing flour into a bowl gives him gray hairs. “We are not doing this,” Minghao says, finally, offering up no explanation because he doesn’t tell anyone about his knee, and he’s not starting with Mingyu. “I’ll bake fifty. You’ll bake fifty. I’m sure Jisoo will be able to make it look good.”

“I’m a _cake artisan_ , not a magician—” Jisoo protests, but Mingyu has already nodded. Minghao goes over to his own station and starts measuring out cups of flour, trying to calm down. It figures that the other pastry chef would be completely incompatible with him. It’s not like Minghao’s had any luck so far.

Minghao’s cookies turn out fine, flat golden circles. Mingyu’s finished up a few minutes before, and he hasn’t made exactly fifty, so Mingyu comes over and hands Minghao one of his, saying, “Here. Have a cookie.”

It might’ve been a peace offering had not been for the angry twist to Mingyu’s mouth and the challenging way he held the pastry out. Minghao accepts it, takes a bite.

It’s really fucking good, warming his mouth and melting along the sides of his tongue, and although it’s different from his the quality is just as good. Minghao’s not going to admit that, though. “Not bad,” he says, shrugging. He sets the cookie aside, the ultimate insult. “Try one of my mine.”

“I’m not eating your cookies,” Mingyu says, eyes dark, eyes trained on the unfinished cookie. “You probably baked your dick personality into it.”

“Guess the customers are out of luck, then, huh?”

“Hey, both of you,” Jisoo says, and he sounds tired. Minghao guiltily stares down at his shoes. What the hell is _wrong_ with him? “Your cookies are great. I think the customer will really like it. But you can’t argue like this.”  

There’s a surge of anger before all of the fight goes out of him and Minghao deflates. The world is tilting. He’s in the studio again, clutching his swollen knee, crying into the phone as Jun frantically assures him that it’ll be alright, he’ll be there soon. “I’m sorry,” Minghao says, meaning it. “We won’t.”

“Yeah…” Mingyu murmurs a moment after. He looks legitimately apologetic. “We won’t.”

\---

It’s Minghao’s lunch break and he’s standing outside, eating noodles out of a plastic cup. They’re supposed to be Chinese and don’t taste like it at all, but Minghao loves noodles. He’ll take what he can get.

He and Mingyu had worked silently through the morning, not saying a word to each other. Three hours was enough time for Minghao to stew in his embarrassment; and he chides _Jun_ for being too hotheaded. He hasn’t really worked in a professional setting before, so it’s a belated realization that he could very well be fired if Soonyoung and Seokmin deem him too much trouble.

There’s a noise behind him, the sound of footsteps on pavement. Mingyu, holding a half-eaten sandwich. He approaches Minghao like he’s scared that Minghao will blow a fuse and combust all over the sidewalk, which is actually pretty understandable given their previous situation.

“Hi,” Mingyu says, and chokes out the next words. “Uh. So. I’m sorry. Like… not to you. But the situation in general.”

Minghao exhales. “So am I.” The words taste like bile in his throat. “I mean, we were both dicks, so I’m not taking full responsibility, but you know. We can’t do shit like that.”

“Yeah, Jisoo’s really nice, he doesn’t deserve this…” Mingyu says, trailing off. “I don’t know why I mess up so much around you. I’m a nice person.” He shakes his head.

“You know, I’m not so inclined to believe you, but—” Minghao gives a small smile to indicate that he’s joking, sort of, “I’m not usually this much of an ass, either. So. I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt.”

“You’re really something else, you know?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, for one, I can tell you don’t like me very much,” Mingyu says wryly. And Minghao suddenly realizes that most people _would_ probably like Mingyu— he’s got this laid-back aura around him, not to mention that he is very, very attractive. His previous comment on Mingyu’s hotness comes back to him and his stomach roils in embarrassment. Again, what the hell? “Also, um. Jisoo made me eat one of your cookies.”

The way Mingyu’s face is all scrunched up makes it obvious what he’s thinking. “Oh?”

“They’re— really good,” Mingyu says, looking like he’s in pain. “I should’ve trusted you when you said you were a good baker. Like, you’re a dick, but you’re a good baker.”

“Same to you, I really shouldn’t have questioned that.”

Mingyu raises an eyebrow. “Excuse me? Then why’d you leave half my cookie on the table? As a fellow pastry chef do you know how _demoralizing_ that is—”

“I liked it,” Minghao says bluntly. “I only did that to piss you off.”

“Okay,” Mingyu says. He exhales. “We could— combine recipes?”

Minghao thinks about how unsettled he’d felt watching Mingyu carelessly toss ingredients into the bowl. “That’s pushing it,” he immediately says, and regrets how sharp his words come out. Minghao’s legitimately trying to be civil here, despite being slightly snarkier than usual. “I’m sorry. It’s just—”

“Yeah, I know,” Mingyu says. “I don’t know. Maybe we should just like…”

“We should start over,” Minghao says. “Like we probably won’t end up friends or anything but. Hi. I’m Xu Minghao.”

“Kim Mingyu.” His eyes crinkle up into little crescents and it’s not cute at all. “Let’s try not to burn the building down next time we make pastries.”

\---

Minghao meets Chan two weeks in.

At this point, he’s settled into the bakery pretty well. He’s no longer blinded by the sheer wattage of Seokmin’s smile, and he and Jisoo have moved past asking each other for ingredients and can reasonably hold a conversation now. And he and Mingyu haven’t had any full blown arguments; although the way they talked to each other was by no means _nice_ , their insults didn’t really hold too much heat. They tape a truce contract up on the wall titled “Jisoo Protection Policy” next to Mingyu’s hygiene reminder and passively-aggressively comment on each other’s pastries.

At this point, it’s a cold war.

Every day, Minghao comes into the bakery at five, dons an apron, and bakes. He’s got a break for lunch and a break in the morning, because Soonyoung and Seokmin are very considerate about employee comfort, and then he leaves for home at three. He hasn’t met Chan yet because their shifts don’t align. Chan, apparently, is a student, and also apparently, everyone adores him. He comes in at seven for cleaning and maintenance and is responsible for deliveries.

One day, Chan comes in for deliveries during Minghao’s break. Minghao is sitting on the curb with his headphones in when a truck rolls in, emblazoned with the bakery’s logo on the side. Someone steps out of the front, this guy who looks like he’s in college or high school, his face young and open and innocent. Like he hasn’t been made bitter and cynical by the world. Like if someone hypothetically got batter all over him, he’d smile and say it’s okay instead of being wracked by homicidal urges.

“Chan!” someone yells. Minghao takes his headphones off of his ears and turns around to see Soonyoung barrelling down the sidewalk. “You’re early today, what’s up?”

Chan shrugs. “I’ve got a study thing to go to in an hour, so I figured I’d stop by earlier. Who’s this?” He gestures to Minghao.

Soonyoung’s eyes crinkle. “Oh yeah, you haven’t met Minghao yet! He’s one of the new pastry chefs.” Chan’s face brightens, and he waves. Soonyoung gestures to Minghao. “You should give Chan one of your cookies. He hasn’t had the chance to try them yet.”

Chan mock-gasps. “ _You’re_ the one that Mingyu said he wanted to marry!”

Wait, _what_ , that’s not how it went down at all. “Excuse me?” Minghao sputters, unable to decipher the suddenly terrified look on Chan’s face and the amused one on Soonyoung’s. “No— he— phrased that really badly. Uh. We don’t get along, we’d kill each other within a day of living together.” He suddenly realizes that’s not a good thing to say in front of your boss and hastily says, “I mean, we get along swimmingly, we just uh. We would not be good as a couple. Or married to each other.”

Fortunately, no one comments on the trainwreck that just came out of his mouth, although Soonyoung and Chan are both staring at him like they’re not too certain of his sanity. “I’ll just, um, go get my cookies,” Minghao says, and backs into the bakery.

He walks in to where Mingyu is also on his break. Mingyu’s sitting on one of the tables, chatting with this one regular named Wonwoo, this guy who orders bread and plain tea and sits there reading. Mingyu and Wonwoo are total opposites. Mingyu’s got his legs folded up in this complicated pretzel formation that Minghao probably used to be able to achieve with ease, but _whatever_ , Mingyu can sit however he wants with Wonwoo.

Minghao’s not sure if they’re a couple but is irritated nonetheless. He brushes past both of them and removes one of his cookies from its little rack in the backroom, selecting one of the best out of the batch.

Mingyu walks in. “Yo, Minghao, you stealing from inventory?” he says teasingly. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell Seokmin.”

“It’s not for me,” Minghao hastens to say, glaring, “Chan’s here and Soonyoung told me I should get one of these for him.”

“Ooh, Chan’s here?” Mingyu says. His eyes sparkle, bouncing up and down like an overenthusiastic puppy. _Seriously_. “Dude, I never manage to catch that kid! He’s got some kind of dance life at his university that he never tells me about…”

Something in Minghao snaps at the mention of dance, sharp and brittle, but he keeps his front up. “I wonder _why._ ”

“Hey,” Mingyu says, pointing a threatening finger. “Don’t you dare insinuate that Chan doesn’t like me. I’m his favorite.” He slides one of _his_ cookies out of its little place in the rack, too. “I’ll give him one also, he can tell us which one he likes better.”

“I can’t believe you’re involving this kid in our ongoing pastry war,” Minghao sighs, although his competitive self is already gearing up to win. He suddenly remembers what Chan had said in the parking lot, says, “And hey, watch how you phrase things. Apparently you told Chan that you wanted to marry me? For what?”

Mingyu’s expression grows really pale for a second before he dons a plastic smirk. “I guess he didn’t mention the part where I said I’d divorce you for your personality,” he says. “Anyway, c’mon, let’s go!” He scans the bakery. “Actually, we should go get Jihoon too… he loves that kid. Although you know, he doesn’t show it. Hey, Jihoon!”

Jihoon rips his headphones out again, letting out a long-suffering groan. Minghao can relate. “ _What_.” Mingyu tells him that Chan is here, and it’s kind of cute how Jihoon’s face expression softens. He looks sweet, in that one moment.

Minghao, Mingyu, and Jihoon come out of the bakery a minute later. Soonyoung is crouched in back of the truck, helping Chan fit boxes into the trunk. Chan sees Jihoon and his face lights up. “Hi!”

“Looks like you’re not his favorite,” Minghao whispers to Mingyu.

“Shut up, he just doesn’t see Jihoon as often,” Mingyu grumbles.

“Hey,” Jihoon says to Chan, ruffling his hair. “How are you doing?”

Chan beams. “I’m doing okay… the dance crew really liked your new song. We’re using it for the competition that’s coming up in a month.”

Minghao misses Jihoon’s response, feeling like all the air has been knocked out of his chest, like he’s been slapped in the face. Chan can _dance._ Chan has two functioning legs and a perfectly stable kneecaps, and Minghao can’t even hate him for it. Mingyu looks at him, concerned, and Minghao immediately dons an apathetic scowl and looks away. _Don’t lose control. Don’t break down._

“Hey,” Mingyu says, voice unnaturally loud, to Chan. “We brought you cookies. One of them’s mine.” He holds them out.

“Excuse me,” Soonyoung says, “I said we wanted Chan to taste _Minghao’s_ cookies.”

Mingyu looks wounded. “It’s a _competition,_ boss.” To Chan, he says, “Just say which one of them is better.”

Chan takes a bite from both, chewing for a long while in contemplation. “This one?” he finally says, holding the one in his right hand up. It’s Minghao’s. Mingyu lets out a groan, falling to the sidewalk, one hand clutching his chest.

“Chan—” Mingyu says, still on the ground, while Chan apologetically giggles. “You _betrayed_ me, I trusted you, how could you _do_ this to me?”

“I told you,” Minghao says, a small smile on his face “Mine are better.”

Mingyu pouts and starts ranting about how the whole thing was rigged and that Chan couldn’t possibly understand the complexities of taste, and it’s really overboard and extra and Minghao is so grateful. There’s still a band of iron around his chest but it’s loosened now, and he can breathe.

\---

Something Minghao learns soon enough: despite the fact that the bakery’s official rules are pretty lax, the unofficial ones are very strict and could fill up an entire handbook. Such as:

1] Soonyoung and Seokmin are in a relationship, so no flirting with them. Even though both of them are hot. (Jun, please control yourself.)

2] Never, ever say the word _ovaries_ around Jisoo. Just don’t.

3] Be very careful when it comes to your comments on Minghao and Mingyu’s cookies. They’ll take it as a statement of war.

4] Mingyu and Wonwoo have a thing, but don’t actually ask Mingyu about it. Just make your own assumptions, which might actually turn out to be extremely wrong.

Minghao breaks the fourth one a month in. Even though Minghao’s gotten to know most of the regulars: Jihoon, with his grumpy demeanor and romantic lyrics; Seungkwan, with his sweet singing voice and the way he talks like he’s constantly on a variety show; Vernon, Seungkwan’s laid-back rapper boyfriend who is apparently forever seventeen— Minghao doesn’t talk to Wonwoo for a long while.

He doesn’t really know why. Maybe it’s because Wonwoo just _looks_ intimidating, that hard stare and austere way he takes his coffee, or maybe it’s because he doesn’t look like he wants to talk to anyone, with his face behind his book like it’s the only thing in the world he needs besides oxygen.

But that appearance can’t be all there is to it, right? Because he’s— something with Mingyu, and Mingyu’s got to like him for some reason. Minghao will see them laughing together on Mingyu’s breaks, Mingyu draped all over Wonwoo’s body like it’s some kind of emo pillow. Minghao doesn’t really know how to explain how it feels watching the two of them together, like he got cheated out of his role in a sitcom.

It’s gotten to the point where Minghao’s almost _avoiding_ talking to him, and as soon as Minghao realizes this he makes up his mind to change that because Xu Minghao doesn’t avoid things. So when Minghao sees Wonwoo reading the book _My I_ one day during his break, he doesn’t think, just says, “Oh, I really liked that book!”

Wonwoo looks up from it, his mouth lifting up slightly from its usual neutral line, and says, “Same. This is a reread.”

“Cool, then I won’t have to worry about spoiling the entire thing for you,” Minghao says, sliding into the seat across from him. Only once his butt is in the chair does he realize that this might turn out extremely awkward, but it’s too late. “I remember thinking that it was cool that the story was built around the red string of fate but wasn’t about romance.”

It was the first Korean novel he’d been able to finish, slowly burning through the foreign characters day by day. He’s got a copy at home, a cheap paperback, the cover battered and pages crinkled.

Wonwoo nods, says, “It’s not something you see done very often. Did you know that there’s going to be a movie based on it? It’s why I’m rereading.”

“No way,” Minghao says, “I mean, it won’t be as good as the book, but still, no way.”

“The movie is _never_ as good as the book,” Wonwoo says. “I hope they get good actors.”

“Yeah,” Minghao says. And then, because it’s courteous, he says, “Wonwoo, right?”

Wonwoo nods, pushing up his glasses. “Wonwoo. And you’re Minghao, Mingyu’s told me about you.”

Minghao nods thoughtlessly before his expression morphs into one of terror. “Wait, what’d he say about me?” A million possibilities fly through his head, all bad.

Wonwoo’s eyes crinkle and his the twist of his mouth turns mischievous. “Uh… well, he said you were really interesting. And he also told me about your cookies. He told everyone about your cookies, actually. Apparently you guys have some sort of war?”

Minghao shrugs. “I mean, at this point, I guess you could call it that.” Then, he says. “Would you like to take sides?”

Wonwoo purses his lips. “I mean, I’d have to take Mingyu’s, because he’s my roommate and I can’t have him killing me in my sleep.” Minghao laughs at that, although. Wonwoo is Mingyu’s roommate, of course he is. “But… I mean, I do. Want to try your cookies. Especially if they’re free.”

Minghao finger-guns. “I will get you one, then.” He goes into the back room and hands him one of the spares. “So…?”

At this moment, just as Wonwoo’s about to take a bite, Mingyu bursts in from outside and screams, “Oh my god, you are _not_ putting your cookie sorcery on my Wonwoo,” and proceeds to wail as Wonwoo defiantly eats it, holding eye contact. Minghao laughs.

“It’s okay,” Minghao says, to Mingyu. “Wonwoo wouldn’t dump you just for this.”

Wonwoo and Mingyu’s eyes widen simultaneously. The air in the room turns sharp and metallic like a knife, and the tension shoots way up. “Wait,” Wonwoo says, slowly, “you thought Mingyu and I were dating?”

Minghao frowns. “Well, yeah, I thought it was kind of obvious—”

“No, dude,” Wonwoo says, and then he bends over and laughs, full-body laughs that completely change the terrain of his face into something cute and open. “Mingyu and I are _very much not dating_ , I assure you, if he’s into anyone it’d be—”

“I’m not into anyone right now,” Mingyu cuts in, voice high. “Wow, Minghao, you’re so stupid, how could you think Wonwoo and I were together?”

Minghao sighs at that. “Right, sorry, my bad. I can’t believe I thought you were competent enough to actually score a date,” and Wonwoo cackles so hard that he nearly drops the half cookie onto the ground.

Minghao hums a little the rest of the day, busying around with the pastries. Jisoo calls him out on his good mood, to which Minghao immediately sets his face into a scowl and says, _what_ , he’s not in an anything, what is Jisoo talking about?

\---

The roadblock truly hits when Minghao realizes his initial impression of Mingyu is very, very wrong. Like not just hit to the right of the bulls eye wrong, like, completely missed the dartboard wrong. And he doesn’t know how to feel about that.

Minghao was bound to stay overtime _eventually_. But the particular scenario was this: a rich family outsourced _all_ of the baked goods for their daughter’s sweet sixteen birthday to The Mix Unit, and no one survived the resulting crossfire.

Jisoo nearly had a breakdown and had to ice his fingers afterward because they’d cramped up so badly icing the thousandth cupcake or so. The whole ordeal dragged on until thirty past seven in the afternoon, and by then the doors of the bakery were closed and everyone was exhausted and had frosting where frosting should not be.

Minghao is a mess. His entire apron is covered in flour, the bakery’s logo nearly indistinguishable from the streaks of batter down the front. Mingyu is no better, sprawled out on the floor looking dead to the world.

“Dude, you know the ground is like, not clean, right?” Minghao asks, although he’s so tired that there’s no heat to his words.

“Do you think I _care_ at this point,” Mingyu gripes, barely cracking his eyes open, and Minghao considers this and shrugs and then lays himself horizontal on the ground too, missing the way Mingyu blushes and moves himself a couple inches away.

Chan walks in toting his school bag and— “Whoa. This place looks like a war zone.”

“It might as well be. Sweet sixteen,” Seokmin says tiredly, from where he’s counting bills at the register, and Chan _ahhs_ in understanding. “These two are casualties.” Seokmin gestures to where Mingyu and Minghao are lying on the ground.

“Casualty number one,” Minghao says, raising his hand.

“I' _m_ casualty number one,” Mingyu mumbles, but it’s half-hearted to the point where Minghao doesn’t even bother arguing back.

“Where’s Jisoo, by the way?” Chan asks.

“In the back, rocking back and forth and muttering about edible glitter,” Soonyoung supplies helpfully, coming out of whatever office space he was cooped up in.

“Alright,” Chan says apologetically, before walking over to Minghao and Mingyu and sitting down cross-legged next to them. “I know you two are dead and everything, but you’re going to have to get up so that I can clean up the place.”

Mingyu immediately bolts up, leaving behind a faint outline of flour and batter. “Yeah, of course, Chan, my bro.” He takes a look at Minghao. “Sorry about the overtime… it happens once in awhile. You can definitely leave now, if you want.”

Minghao’s eyes widen. “Are you _staying_ ?” Now that he thinks about it, he has no idea when Mingyu’s shift ends. Minghao only knows it’s some time after his, Mingyu offering a cheery wave from where he’s rolling dough whenever he and Jisoo walk out. “Wait— what _are_ your hours?”

“Five to seven,” Mingyu says, completely casual, and Minghao tries to prevent his mouth from falling open.

“Mingyu always stays back to help with the cleanup, even though we _told_ him he should go home,” Seokmin says, with a roll of his eyes. “Seriously, the kid is a _machine_.”

Minghao stammers, “You—”

“Surprisingly, I _do_ know how to use a mop,” Mingyu says, staring at Minghao with this steadfast expression that Minghao can’t decipher but makes him feel like his skin is too tight all the same. “I only trip over it, like, every other day.”

Minghao feels oddly helpless. “I’ll stay too, then.”

Mingyu raises an eyebrow. “I mean, you don’t—”

“Just to see you lose to a mop,” Minghao hastily adds, and Mingyu immediately forgets telling Minghao not to stay in favor of giving a snappy retort, which Minghao ignores.

He’s a little bit unnerved at the fact that _Mingyu_ , who Minghao had originally thought to be relatively incompetent, does maybe twenty percent more work in The Mix Unit than Minghao on a daily basis. It’s the first clue-in to exactly how badly he misjudged, but Minghao kicks this thought to the back of his mind and goes to get a washcloth to help clean.

Mingyu does not trip over a mop. Cleaning up the bakery is a methodical process, with everyone having specific roles in the routine. It takes about an hour, and while Chan does most of it, Mingyu’s responsible for all the heavy-duty stuff. Minghao feels almost slightly _useless_ , from where he’s wiping down counters and tables, and Soonyoung says to Minghao while he’s cleaning a shelf, “Mingyu really loves that kid, you know.”

Minghao starts. “What?”

“Chan. Mingyu like, _adores_ him.” Soonyoung shakes his head, and the uneasy feeling in Minghao’s gut doubles.

Eventually, all the tables and chairs are stacked off to the side, and the entire place looks pristine. Minghao is about to say that he’s checking out when Seokmin shouts, “Okay, what song?”

Chan immediately says, “Boom Boom!”

Mingyu whoops. “That is my _jam_!”

“I haven’t heard of it,” Soonyoung says, frowning.

“That’s because you’re old,” Seokmin helpfully suggests, and Soonyoung very maturely sticks his tongue out. “Just gimme a moment.”

It takes a few moments for Minghao to catch on, but apparently, it’s a ritual to blast some a song over the speakers and dance to it after cleanup, using the now-spotless bakery floor as a makeshift dance floor. The intro notes start up and Minghao stands to the side, frozen.

From what he can tell after watching for a few bars, Chan is a really good dancer, along with Soonyoung, but Mingyu and Seokmin are nothing to scoff at either. And a year ago, Minghao would have been right with them. He’d be backflipping diagonals across the bakery floor, b-boying the hell out of it. But that was then.

Thirty seconds into the song Mingyu says “ _Hold_ up” and glares at Minghao. “Oh hell no. You’re supposed to dance along, what was that?”

“I’m leaving now,” Minghao says, quickly, but in a second Mingyu’s across the floor with a hold across his wrist. Minghao looks down at his wrist, then at Mingyu, struggling to hold an apathetic expression. “ _What_?”

“We’re playing the song again, and you’re dancing this time,” Mingyu says, dragging him out onto the makeshift dance floor. Minghao stares at Seokmin and Soonyoung and Chan, hoping one of them would tell Mingyu that he was being ridiculous, but they were all nodding along like yes, Minghao _had_ to.

Minghao knows that if he really wanted to, he could pretty wriggle out of Mingyu’s grasp and escape; it’s not like he’d get fired for refusing to dance. _Boom Boom_ reloops, and Minghao stays frozen for the first few notes, letting everyone else dance around, Mingyu making mocking little _c’mon_ gestures with his hands. But then it’s not even a conscious decision— Minghao just _moves_. Nothing like he did in the past, a lighter, paler version that won’t spark injury in his knee, but—

Mingyu stops dancing, stares at Minghao with his mouth agape. Minghao’s face flames red, but maybe he likes the way that Mingyu’s looking at him right now. So he continues dancing, and Seokmin also stops so he can watch, and Soonyoung and Chan let out a little whoop and Minghao feels like he might fall apart under all the scrutiny but he dances. Minghao’s been taught to love any spotlight, and secretly he _does_ , especially one as bright as the one Mingyu’s focusing on him right now.

“Oh my god,” Seokmin says, when the last notes die out and Minghao lets his arms fall to his sides, blushing red as hell and staring down at his beat-up sneakers. “Holy hell, Minghao, you’ve been hiding _that_ from us?”

Chan’s eyes are big. “You’re so _good_!”

“Thanks,” Minghao mumbles, avoiding eye contact. “Um— I used to dance…” His voice gets smaller at the end. “Anyway, I’m clocking out now, it was nice seeing you again, Chan. ” He takes off his apron and hat and slings his bag over his shoulder, and he brushes past Mingyu on the way out.

Mingyu doesn’t tell him to watch where he’s going, like he usually would. Mingyu doesn’t say anything at all, but Minghao can feel the heat of his stare even when he’s halfway home.

\---

“You’re home really late,” Jun comments, when Minghao arrives. Minghao flops down on the couch, burying his face in the cushions. “Did you go on a hot date that I didn’t know about?”

Minghao unburies his face for a moment to glare. “Why is _that_ your first assumption?”

“It wasn’t. I’d actually assumed your cranky ass was dead in a ditch somewhere, but you know, here you are. Alive.” Jun smirks. “So, hot date?”

“ _No_ hot date,” Minghao says. “I’m gonna go heat up some noodles.”

“Uh… about that…”

“Dammit.” Minghao rifles around the kitchen and discovers that they’re out. He sighs, settles on grabbing a can of soup and microwaving it, coming back into the room with that and a stale chunk of bread. “The bakery ran late because some rich family is hosting a sweet sixteen soon. I never want to see another cupcake in my life.”

“I guess you’re out of luck, considering where you work.”

Minghao pushes his shoulder and shrugs. Jun sits down next to him on the couch, idly thumbing a script. Jun’s an actor; the plan, a long time ago, had been for them to get a place and then Minghao could dance and Jun could act. An unrealistic pipe dream. Or maybe not that unrealistic, since two-thirds of the plan had been fulfilled.

Jun says, quietly, “you’re okay at the bakery, right?”

“Hmm? Yeah.” Minghao takes a vicious bite of bread, as an excuse not to talk a couple of seconds. He chews, swallows. “It’s pretty cool. The staff’s good.”

“Except for Mingyu,” Jun says. Minghao double takes, ready to be offended, before belatedly realizing that he’d complained about him at least a dozen times.

“Um,” Minghao says, forcing the words out. “Uh so, he’s not— actually that bad.” He tries to avert his eyes, but Jun catches on immediately. They’ve been best friends since the womb— in the womb, probably, using fetus telepathy. Secrets are not a thing between them.

“Oh my god,” Jun says, eyes widening. “Are you blushing?” Minghao immediately tries to turn away, but Jun grips his cheeks and smushes them between his hands. Minghao makes a bubble noise, his mouth trapped in a fishlike pout. “You’re _blushing_.”

Minghao wrestles out of Jun’s grasp. “I’m not.”

“No, you _so_ are,” Jun cackles, and Minghao mutters a _shut up_ because he’s got no viable ammo to use. “So I was right, you _do_ have a hot date.”

“Listen, Mingyu might be hot, but we’re—” Minghao’s eyes widen as he realizes what he just said, and Jun literally falls off the couch, laughing so hard he’s clutching his sides. “I hate you so much.”

\---

The bomb is dropped a week later. Jihoon, Seungkwan, and Hansol are listening intently to Jihoon’s new composition, their headphones plugged into this weird octopus looking device so that all three of them can listen at once, and Soonyoung comes over to check on how they’re doing and Hansol says, unwittingly, “nice ring!”

Minghao doesn’t see what happens next, but when he, Mingyu, and Jisoo come out of the break room to see what the commotion is about they find Seungkwan out of his chair and flapping his arms around, Hansol looking spooked, and Jihoon with even more of a judgemental gaze than usual.

“Seungkwan, sit down,” Jihoon says. Seungkwan pouts but complies.

“What’s happening?” Mingyu asks. “Everyone’s okay, right? We don’t need to evacuate the building or anything drastic or—”

“Mingyu, _calm down_ ,” Minghao says. “But like— no one died, right?”

“This is a _bakery_ , why do you assume _death_ ,” Seokmin groans.

Jisoo carelessly replies, “you’re keeping Minghao and Mingyu cooped up in the same space for long periods of time, it’s the norm for something to go wrong.” A second later, Jisoo registers his own words, and his face turns apologetic.

Mingyu gapes, like he can’t believe that he just got roasted by _Jisoo_ , unintentionally or not. The sad thing is that Minghao shares the exact same sentiment.

“Anyway,” Seungkwan interrupts from where he’s now sitting normally in his chair, with a face like he’s about to dish out the gossip of the century, “apparently, Soonyoung and Seokmin here are _engaged_.”

Mingyu’s jaw drops even further, like his shock meter has officially been exhausted for the day and he can’t fully comprehend anything else. “Wait, _what_?”

Jisoo’s face slackens in shock before immediately assembling into an expression of soft joy. “Wait, we didn’t know about this, but— congratulations! When’d this happen?”

Seokmin twists the ring around his finger, something sterling silver with a diamond sun and a smattering of stars. “It was like… three days ago, maybe? Super cliche. Soonyoung just stuck a ring atop one of the cupcakes and asked me to marry him.”

Seungkwan swoons, Hansol says, “Nice,” and Jihoon mumbles, “Wow.”

“Whose cupcake was it, mine or Minghao’s?” Mingyu demands, because his pettiness knows no bounds. (Neither does Minghao’s, but that’s not the point here.) The entire room glares at him, and Mingyu blushes and adds, “Congratulations, though! You two have been in love since, what, forever?”

“When’s the wedding?” Seungkwan demands.

“We’re not having one.”

There’s dead silence following that statement. Seokmin clears his throat, awkward, and says— “we’re just going to like, sign a piece of paper. It’s fine. We can’t really take time off the bakery for a wedding…”

Everyone continues not saying anything, and Seokmin questions, nervously, “guys… ?”

Surprisingly, the one to break the silence isn’t Jihoon or Mingyu; it’s Jisoo, expression unreadable. “We have to get back to work right now, but we’re talking about this later,” before he drags Minghao and Mingyu by the arm into the backroom.

\---

And this is why Minghao ends up staying way after his shift for the second time.

It’s seven and the shop is closed, and the entirety of the Mix Unit’s staff along with Jihoon, Seungkwan, and Vernon are assembled in the bakery. Seungkwan’s holding a packet in his hand that contains wedding plans or instructions on how to summon a demon, one of those two. Chan says, confusedly, “What’s going on?”

Some variation of “Seokmin and Soonyoung got engaged” floats up from about six people, resulting in a dissonant and yet weirdly romantic chorus. Chan beams. “Oh wow, really? That’s so cool! Am I invited to the wedding?”

“That’s kind of why we’re all here,” Mingyu says. “Apparently they’re not _having_ one.”

Chan’s expression falls straight down like a gyro drop. “Oh.”

Soonyoung comes out of the back, looking slightly abashed, fidgeting with the ring on his finger. “It’s not that we don’t _want_ to have one—”

“You know us, we’d take any excuse to eat cake and get drunk,” Seokmin adds, “but we’re a small bakery and we operate year-round, we can’t really…”

“You’re saying you can’t have _one_ off day?” Mingyu demands. Minghao wonders if he’s allowed to contribute to this discussion; he’s only been here for a couple of months, and it’s clear that most of the people in this room are best of friends outside the business.

Soonyoung says, “Weddings don’t happen in one day, unless we like, crash someone else’s wedding and then tranquilize everyone and hypnotize the priest—”

“ _Why_ does it sound like you’ve planned this out,” Jihoon asks.

“But the _actual_ wedding would only take one day,” Seungkwan says airily, brandishing the packet, and Minghao gets the distinctive feeling that he would be very, very good on talk shows.

“And it doesn’t have to be big,” Mingyu adds. “Small scale.”

Seungkwan nods. “You’ve already got refreshments covered. Mingyu and Minghao could literally bake everything overnight and Jisoo is _perfectly_ capable of frosting a kickass wedding cake. And Jihoon volunteered to do music—”

“You volunteered _for_ me—”

“Same difference. And my friend’s a wedding planner, I could ask them for help.”

“Seungkwan’s scary,” Mingyu whispers, and Minghao gives an affirmative nod. Soonyoung and Seokmin look thoroughly intimidated at this point. Like they’ve just been cross-interrogated and have nothing left for their cover story.

Jisoo drums his fingers on the tabletop. “People love this place, you’ve got a lot of connections. It’d be relatively easy to pull a wedding off.” His voice is soft, but the words drop like a bombshell. Jisoo’s the kind of person  “You deserve to celebrate this, you know. You’ve done a lot for all of us.”  

Seokmin opens his mouth, closes it, and finally says, “Wow.”

“I don’t know,” Soonyoung says, playing with his apron strings. He looks slightly overwhelmed. “Give us some time to talk it over?”

They nod, and Soonyoung and Seokmin just stand there looking at each for thirty seconds. “Alright,” Seokmin says. “We’re doing it.”

“Holy shit, that was fast,” Vernon says. Seungkwan lets out a whoop.

“We’re telepathic,” Soonyoung says, like that explains everything. “But yes, okay, fine, we’ll have a wedding. Under the conditions that it’s small and relatively informal and we play SHINee at some point.”

Weird criteria, but Minghao’s learned to expect nothing less from The Mix Unit. “We can work with that. So… when is it going to be?”

“A soon as physically possible, so we don’t disturb business for longer than necessary. So maybe… in two weeks… ?” Seokmin muses, looking a little like he’s just realizing the gravity of what he’s saying. He’s agreeing to a wedding. The owners of the Mix Unit are going to have a _wedding_.

Minghao is going to bake the best fucking cookies he has in his life.

“Seungkwan, dial your wedding planner friend,” Jihoon says dryly, trying to look apathetic and miserably failing. Minghao understands. The excitement is palpable, contagious. He’ll probably get mocked by Jun tonight for looking through Pinterest wedding blogs in search of pastry ideas. He’ll delete his search history immediately afterward, though, can’t give Jun more ammunition than necessary.

Seungkwan whips out his phone. “Already on it.”

\---

Getting roped into a wedding, especially one happening in two weeks, is exactly as stressed as one would think.

Because baked goods are prone to getting stale, Mingyu, Minghao, and Jisoo won’t really be involved until a few days before, there’s a deceptive air of stagnancy in the back room, no evidence that a wedding is actually occurring.

Except it _is_ , because there are two people sitting in the bakery. They’re Seungkwan’s friends, the wedding planner duo. Their names are Seungcheol and Jeonghan, and both of them are so good-looking it’s unreal, one of them with long eyelashes and a kind smile and the other with a soft blonde-violet hair and a facial structure like an actual angel. Minghao is maybe a little scared of both of them. But… not as scared as Jisoo.

Jisoo had walked out on break and then immediately walked back in, slammed the doors, and whispered, “Wow, they’re so _pretty_.” Minghao and Mingyu had found the entire thing fairly amusing, although it was now less amusing because Jisoo was currently stress-piping buttercream onto cupcakes and messing up every seventeenth cupcake or so.

Eventually, Minghao intervenes. “Jisoo, you’re going to have to step out of the backroom eventually. It’s— did you skip your lunch break? That’s not healthy, eat your lunch.”

“It’s okay,” Jisoo mumbles, cutting out some fondant. “I’ll eat my sandwich later. After they’re gone. If I go out there now I’ll drop every single lettuce leaf onto my pants, and that would be bad.”  

“Dude, please go eat your sandwich, I think your hands are shaking,” Mingyu observes, from where Jisoo is trying to roll together a fondant pink rose. “You’ll be fine, I drop lettuce on my pants _all_ the time, and no one judges me for it, except maybe Minghao.”

“That’s only because it’s you,” Minghao retorts automatically, and Mingyu scoffs.

“I have flour in my hair,” Jisoo begs, “listen, guys, I’m fine just let me hide in here—”

“Hello?” one of the wedding planners pokes their head into the back room, the one with the soft blonde hair. Mingyu freezes, Minghao stops mid-bake and Jisoo accidentally squishes his fondant rose. “Can I speak to the cake artisan? We’re discussing wedding cake concepts and I’d like for them to be present…”

“Oh, that’s Jisoo,” Mingyu says, smirking, bodily shoving Jisoo forward. For once, Minghao is completely onboard with Mingyu’s actions.

“Hey, I’m Jeonghan,” the wedding planner— Jeonghan— says.

Jisoo sends Minghao and Mingyu a look that might be a mixture of a plea and a death glare and walks out with Jeonghan, blushing violently all the while. “Will he be okay?” Minghao asks, resuming with his batter.

“He’ll live,” Mingyu says, a small smile gracing his face. “I haven’t seen him that tongue-tied in a while.”

\---

It’s a week before the wedding when everything implodes.

Soonyoung and Seokmin, despite their attempts at keeping the bakery operating as normal, end up having to close a couple hours early for the week so that they could get some sleep and have time to go to their tuxedo fittings and such. Chan happily abuses his delivery boy privileges and uses the bakery truck to cart around flowers and decorations, to which absolutely no one yells at him for.

On Monday, Mingyu, Minghao, and Jisoo are handed a neatly laminated sheet of paper with all the necessary bakery goods, Seokmin and Soonyoung both frenetically apologizing for any overtimes (“We’ll pay you guys, we swear”) (“You’re not paying us anything, shut the hell up”). Looking at the piece of paper feels kind of cool, though. It feels like being given instructions for a pastry-oriented Mission Impossible.

(Nevermind that in a couple of hours, the sheet would be covered in so much frosting and flour that the text wouldn’t even be recognizable.)

“Alright,” Minghao says, with the page in his hand. “We’ll be getting home a little late from how this is looking. It’s not even that there’s a lot of food, it’s just that all of it needs to be pretty and nicely arranged.”

Jisoo nods. “Yeah, Chan bought us several packs of energy drinks and we’ve got free reign of the coffee machine this entire week.”

“We should probably make the pastries that involve frosting first, since you need time to pipe and frost and shit,” Minghao says thoughtfully, Jisoo looking mildly aghast at how flippantly he’d described his entire cake artisan career, “And anything that won’t require that Mingyu and I can make a day before the actual wedding.”

“Sounds good to me,” Jisoo says, sighing. “Let’s go.”

Mingyu and Minghao go down the list splitting up duties; Jisoo intervening halfway through when they get into yet another cookie argument. The two of them spend the next few hours rolling out dough, and by the time they’ve got a solid base for the food, Minghao’s wrists are sore and Mingyu looks like he’s about to keel over.

Minghao absentmindedly rubs at the joints, and Mingyu comes over and says, “here, let me.” Minghao is too surprised to properly react when Mingyu takes his hand in his, digging his fingers into the skin. Mingyu is unfairly good at it; the tension leaves his wrists in the span of thirty seconds. Mingyu is unfairly good at everything.

And then Minghao registers that maybe it _shouldn’t_ feel this good, like maybe he shouldn’t feel like he doesn’t want Mingyu’s hands to leave his wrists, and he immediately pulls away like he’s been burned and says, “Thanks. I’m good, though.” It feels like the temperature in the room had shot up fifty degrees.

“You’re problem,” Mingyu stammers, and then says. “Um. I mean. No problem. And you’re welcome. Sorry, that came wrong…”

“Y-yeah…” Minghao stutters, and over at the sidelines he spots Jisoo calmly folding out marzipan decorations. His face is, as usual, serene, but it’s almost like Jisoo’s _smirking_. Minghao’s probably imagining that, though.

At eight, Jisoo groans, and Minghao peels himself off the chair and stretches. He’s almost completely covered in flour, and his vision does that thing where he sees black for a couple of seconds and then clears out. “I’m clocking out,” Jisoo says, apologetic.

“Yeah, okay, that sounds good,” Minghao says, yawning. “I think we’re a little bit ahead of schedule, which is nice, although that probably doesn’t mean anything. We’ll probably be pulling an all-nighter the day before the wedding.”

Jisoo says, “I hate that your prediction is probably right.”

Minghao peels off his floury apron and gets his jacket off of the hook nearby, and he and Jisoo spend the next thirty minutes covering all the dough in wrap and putting them in their respective fridges. At the end, Minghao turns to face Mingyu. “You coming with?”

Mingyu looks up from where he’s still rolling out dough and says, “Hmm? Oh yeah, just let me finish this one thing. I’ll be out in maybe another half hour. Don’t wait up.”

“Alright, take care,” Jisoo says, and Minghao echoes the sentiment.

\---

Apparently, Mingyu is not out in half an hour.

Minghao and Jisoo arrive at five the next morning to find Mingyu slumped over in one of the chairs in the backroom, asleep. Behind him, the place is pristine, everything neat and orderly. A streak of flour is smeared across Mingyu’s cheek.

That weird feeling in Minghao’s stomach intensifies. He’s always prided himself on being disciplined, being hard-working, but Mingyu’s another level entirely.

“Hey,” Jisoo says, pushing Mingyu on the shoulder. Mingyu makes a strangled noises and promptly pitches face-forward. Jisoo catches him only just in time to prevent him from smashing into the ground. “ _Hey._ Fighting!”

“That only works on Soonyoung,” Mingyu mumbles, but he pushes himself upright nonetheless. “Ah, is it time to open already? My back is so sore…”  

“Not important,” Minghao butts in. “How much sleep did you get?”

“One, maybe two hours?” Mingyu guesses. “I’m not sure…”

Jisoo looks like someone kneed him in the groin. Minghao raises his eyebrows. There are dark circles under Mingyu’s eyes, and he looks kind of pale, like he might fall over if somebody pushed him. “What the _fuck_ ,” Minghao says. “Why would you _do_ that.”

“To remake a batch that wasn’t up to par,” Mingyu says, plaintively.

Minghao rubs his temples; he vaguely feels like a game of pinball is occurring in his skull. “Go back to sleep. We’ll cover for you today.”

“What,” Mingyu says, pushing himself up. He looks alarmed, and again, Minghao _wonders_. “This is _just_ a ploy to prove your cookies are better—”

“My cookies _are_ better, we don’t need any more proof,” Minghao snaps. “And you can’t kill yourself working. Seokmin and Soonyoung already feel guilty enough as it is. Jisoo and I weren’t even supposed to stay in that late, so I don’t know what _you’re_ pulling—”

“A few all-nighters isn’t going to kill me,” Mingyu says stubbornly. “And I don’t want you working all by yourself, I’ll feel bad.”

Minghao sighs, pushes his hair out of his face. Forget Mingyu, _none_ of them got sufficient sleep last night, and all of them are stretched out thin enough to snap. “You don’t get a say in this, you fell asleep in the bakery,” Minghao says.

“Please, Mingyu, go to sleep,” Jisoo says softly. “It’s for your own good.”

Mingyu looks like he’s going to protest further, but Minghao death-glares at him and he rolls his eyes before closing them in an exaggerated manner. A few minutes pass and his breathing deepens, evening out into real sleep. “He’s insane,” Minghao comments.

“Yeah, well, we’ve all got our quirks,” Jisoo mutters. “Working himself to the bone just happens to be one of his.”

\---

Mingyu wakes up at around three in the afternoon and insists on helping out, stubbornly refusing Minghao and Jisoo’s exasperated warnings.

He and Minghao are making the wedding cake today; three-tiered, with enough calories and sugar to make Minghao’s past dance instructors faint in their studios. Minghao and Mingyu don’t even argue during the process. Minghao has the top two layers, and Mingyu’s responsible for the bottom one. It’s really Jisoo that’s got the short end of the stick: he’s got to _frost_ them in all of Jeonghan and Seungcheol’s detail.

At around seven, Jisoo says nervously, “is it okay if I leave now? My hands are shaking and I don’t wanna mess up the decoration…”  

“Dude, you’re good,” Minghao says. “Take care of yourself.”

“Yeah, Jisoo,” Mingyu adds. “If you die on us, I’ll definitely be blamed. They’ll think I accidentally stabbed you with a kitchen knife or something.”

Jisoo rolls his eyes. “Wow, thanks for all your heartfelt support.”

“No problem,” Minghao says, cheerfully. “And actually, I’m gonna clock out too, so I’ll come with. I’m pretty much done with my load.”

“Alright, guys,” Mingyu says absentmindedly, focusing on his baking, “take care, don’t get hit by a truck, etcetera etcetera. See you tomorrow.”

When neither Minghao nor Jisoo moves after thirty seconds, Mingyu officially looks up, double-taking. “...What?”

“You’re not doing this again,” Minghao says crisply. “We can all pull an all-nighter together on the last day, but you’re coming home with us now, okay?”

“Huh? No, I’ll be fine, I need to—”

“You’re _coming with us_ , I don’t want you overworking yourself.” Minghao realizes a split second later that he should have said _we_ , not _I_ , because _we_ is safer and encompasses Jisoo and also doesn’t imply that Minghao cares about Mingyu in any shape, way, or form. But the words are already out. He can’t take them back.

Mingyu blinks owlishly. Then, his confused expression splits into a smirk. “Hey, can you put nice Minghao on the line more? I like him.”

“Fuck you,” Minghao spits. “Go get your coat, we’re leaving.”

“Aight, just let me clean up this mess,” Mingyu sighs, and Jisoo and Minghao wordlessly grab dishcloths and join him. They don’t speak, too exhausted to even banter back and forth like they usually do, and although Mingyu protests that he’s _fine_ on the way out, the way he leans heavily on Minghao’s shoulder speaks something of relief.

\---

When the day before the wedding comes, Jisoo’s bitten his nails down to the quick and even Minghao’s abandoned his usual placidity.

Seokmin’s smile is this overly bright and nervous, like some kind of malfunctioning lamp, and there are at least twenty regulars and semi-regulars crammed in the bakery at any point in time wanting to congratulate Seokmin and Soonyoung or to verify that yes, they’re coming tomorrow. The influx of people keeps Minghao, Mingyu, and Jisoo up to their wrists in batter, all three of them knowing full well that after the daily rush there’ll be a dozen more last-minute things to do tomorrow.

They probably _will_ be pulling an all-nighter, at this rate.

Jisoo’s let off at noon so that he can decorate the cake. Both the process and result are _amazing_ : Jisoo, standing in front of the cake that’s maybe half as tall as himself, calmly spreading icing and swirling elaborate lace designs on the surface. It’s probably the most valuable thing in the bakery right now; if a murderer came in and asked Minghao to choose between himself and the cake, he’d volunteer to die in a heartbeat.

Actually, no, he knows wushu and would have them flat on their back in the space of a second, but it’s the sentiment that counts.

At the end of it Jisoo’s composure completely breaks down and he stands there in the back room with his hands shaking looking like he’s about to pass out. It doesn’t seem like he’s planning on leaving though, standing there like _what can I do next_ , and it’s not even Mingyu or Minghao that kicks him out, in the end.

It’s four o’clock and Seokmin barrels in front the front. “You look like you’re going to keel over,” Seokmin says. “Take a break, go home early.”

“Wait, but—”

“There’s literally two things left to frost, and I’m not as good as you but I’ve got _some_ experience,” Mingyu butts in. “C’mon, Jisoo. See you at the wedding tomorrow!”

Jisoo opens his mouth, snaps it shut. “Alright, see you,” he says. “Don’t you and Minghao kill each other while I’m gone.”

“No promises,” Minghao and Mingyu chorus simultaneously, and then glare at each other like it’s somehow the opposing person’s fault that they said the exact same thing.

\---

Minghao knew that it’d been a joke when Jisoo had asked them not to kill each other, but when he’s faced with the reality of being in the backroom alone with Mingyu… it’s almost not. The air isn’t particularly murderous as far as Minghao can tell, but there’s this weird tension between the two of them, and Minghao can’t decipher it.

“I’m psyched for Soonyoung and Seokmin’s wedding tomorrow,” Mingyu finally says. He sounds exhausted. Minghao looks up at the clock. Nine-thirty.

“Yeah,” Minghao says automatically, rolling out dough. He can’t feel his hands anymore, and his sense of smell has completely abandoned him. “Me too.”

“Who would’ve thought, with _your_ grumpy demeanor,” Mingyu snarks back.

And _there_ the usual animosity is; now everything’s normal. “What am I, the Grinch that stole Christmas? Except, like, Chinese?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know if you’re capable of stealing an entire holiday.”

“Shut the _hell_ up,” Minghao says, flicking a little bit of flour at him, and Mingyu gets this expression like he kind of wants to throw an egg back. Unfortunately, they can’t really afford to have a full-fledged food fight at this hour.

Minghao adds, “I’m really just looking forward to the food. Not our food, I’m sick of baked goods at this point, but Jeonghan pulled some strings and Bangtan’s going to be in charge of the buffet.”

“No way!” Mingyu says; Bangtan’s this restaurant in the nearby area that’s _fire_ — they’re not even that expensive but the reviews are five-star. “How’d he do that?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t want to know.” Minghao’s fairly certain that whatever methods Jeonghan’s used, they may not be completely legal. “I’m half-convinced that Jeonghan’s some kind of magical entity. No human is _that_ persuasive.”

“Right? I thought that was just a me thing!” Mingyu says, excitedly. “Like I like someone else but” — Mingyu’s eyes widen, realizing what he just said— “I mean, I don’t— uh…”

It’s a perfect opportunity for teasing, right there, with Mingyu’s unintentional slip. All defenses down, goal wide open. But Minghao doesn’t feel like it, for some reason. His chest is oddly tight, so he doesn’t press, just says, “yeah, I see why Jisoo is so enamored. With both of them.”

Mingyu nods, clearly relieved that Minghao hadn’t pushed it. “I hope it works out for him. Maybe something will happen with them at the wedding…”

“I hope so, too. I’ll finally have some material to tease him for.”

“You’re a terrible person,” Mingyu says, “but I guess so am I, too, then, by those standards.You know what else I hope? I hope I’ll get to see you dance. Tomorrow.”

Minghao tells himself not to be affected, not to go all cold all over and for his fact to burn bright red. He stutters out, “How do you know I won’t just— dab the entire time?”

“I wouldn’t mind that either,” Mingyu says, seriously. “I approve of dabbing. I would dab with you forever.”

He makes it sound like some kind of love confession, and the sad thing is that it’s probably the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to Minghao.

Jun would give him such a hard time right now.

Minghao says, “I think we’d traumatize everyone there.”

“Then let’s do it.” And at this, Minghao admits grudgingly to himself that maybe Kim Mingyu knows how to work a guy. He’ll need Mingyu’s opinion on Kermit the Frog to make any conclusive decisions, but this is a start. This is a definitely a start.

\---

Two hours later, Minghao yawns; it’s getting late. The weirdness has returned. As time goes by, it gets worse and worse, and Minghao hates it. He hates nights. He hates that literally _anything_ can happen and he’s powerless to stop it. (Studio floors. A swollen knee. Crying into the phone, Jun frantically reassuring him on the other end.)

He hates how his brain-to-mouth filter just shuts down, his body tricking him into thinking that everything’s a dream and his words won’t have any consequence in the morning.

From the looks of it nights have the same influence on Mingyu, but obviously Mingyu’s too stupid to run away while he still can, so he just says something dumb.

“You’re like, _really_ good at dance, you know,” Mingyu says, keeping his eyes trained down on the oven. “If you were in a showcase I’d come to watch you.”

And Minghao considers telling him. He does. He really, really does. He misses dance so much, misses the feeling of how he’d come alive in the studio and on the stage. Baking comes nothing close to it, but maybe he can call The Mix Unit home someday.

He doesn’t tell Mingyu that, though. There are better times for that conversation.

Instead, Minghao chokes around the ghost of words he could’ve said and mumbles,  “I’m really tired to the point where I’m half-delusional right now. Don’t speak to me.”

Mingyu, surprisingly, actually falls silent, and after another hour they finish up the last batch of baked goods. And then it hits Minghao: they’re _done_. He collapses next to the wall, pressing his face to his knees, Mingyu sliding down beside him.

“I am _never_ getting married,” Mingyu groans, words thick with exhaustion. “ _Never_.”

Around here would be about when Minghao makes a joke about how Mingyu would be hard-pressed to find someone to marry him, but instead he asks, “Why?”

Mingyu squints. “I’m not inflicting this” —he gestures at the flour-covered tables, the batter dripping down their aprons, the dishes piling up in the sink—  “kind of pain on anyone else. I’d just like, sign the piece of paper and then invite a bunch of people over to eat food.”

“That sounds nice,” Minghao hums.

Mingyu grins, wide. “Doesn’t it?”

Minghao lifts his chin up, the florescent lights blinding. “I’m not getting married either,” Minghao tells the ceiling. “Jun would embarrass me in his best-man speeches, I’d get arrested for murder, and that’d be against your average wedding protocol.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t gotten arrested for murder at this point _already_.”

“I’m very good at hiding the body,” Minghao says, flashing a wide smile. Mingyu rolls his eyes and offers out his hand. “C’mon, get up, we have to clean this place or else Soonyoung and Seokmin will murder _us_ and then our hypothetical weddings will _really_ be out of the question.”

Minghao groans and gets up. His knee gives a twinge, because it does that whenever he’s tired or whenever the wind blows east or the weather turns gray. Any excuse, really, to offer him a reminder him of what he’s lost. He stumbles tiredly and crashes into the Mingyu and both of them go down in a heap of limbs and flour.

“This one’s on you,” Mingyu crows, and then he _looks up_ and seems to realize exactly how close their faces are, and then they have an accidental wrestling session as they attempt to fight each other off the fastest.

Minghao is blushing. _Why is he blushing._ “Your clumsiness rubbed off of me,” he says, stiffly. “I’ve been in a room with you for too long.”

“That’s not how it _works_ , you absolute asshole,” Mingyu groans, and Minghao grins and shrugs and the two of them get to work cleaning up the room.

When they’re finished, it’s silent and the windows are dark outside the windows and Minghao knows both of them should be scrambling to get home so they won’t show up at Soonyoung and Seokmin’s wedding looking like zombies with a peculiar penchant for baking pastries. But Minghao doesn’t want to go.

And Mingyu isn’t making a move to leave, either.

“So…” Mingyu says. “I have no witnesses around, and I can tell you that this never happened and everything was a dream, so. Um. Here goes.”

“Are you planning on stabbing me?” Minghao asks, but Mingyu ignores this because he’s got his eyes squeezed firmly shut.

He opens them and says, “Your cookies. Are better than mine.”

And that’s it. Mingyu’s never getting married because he’s just so, impossibly awkward, but that’s okay because Minghao isn’t going to get married _right_ with him because he’s apparently just as bad. It’s night. He’s tired.

Everything is a dream.

Minghao takes a few steps until he’s only a few inches away. Mingyu’s face scrunches in fear and apprehension, and Minghao takes Mingyu’s face in his hands and kisses him. The angle is bad and it’s just as much of a trainwreck as the entire rest of their conversation, but Mingyu kisses back and Minghao considers this a win.

They break apart a few seconds later and Mingyu sputters, dazed and grinning widely, “I can’t believe that’s _all_ it took to get you to kiss me. You are such a narcissist.”

“Shut the hell up,” Minghao groans, just as dazed. “And hey, how long does that mean you’ve had a thing for me, exactly?”

“Why do you think I poured batter all over you the first day?” Mingyu says, rolling his eyes. “I thought you were cute. And then you turned out to be an asshole, but I still liked you for some goddamn reason. How long for you?”

Minghao shrugs. “It was kind of a spur of the moment decision. I spent more time wanting to beat your face in than wanting to kiss you.”

Mingyu crosses his arms, and Minghao rolls his eyes and leans in again, and in the morning Jisoo finds the two of them on the floor of the break room in this weird position like they’d been fighting for the role of big spoon in their sleep.

“Guys, get up,” Jisoo says, frantically, too distressed to properly think about how they’d ended up like this. “We’ve got a wedding to go to.”

\---

The wedding ceremony goes pretty well, in actuality.

Jihoon sits behind the grand piano, face soft as he plays a rendition of Pachelbel's Canon, and Soonyoung and Seokmin wear form-fitting tuxedos and brilliant smiles as they stand up there and recite their vows. There’s so much love in the air that Minghao can’t decide whether to puke or start believing in happy endings again.

The crowd is fairly small and the revenue informal. There’s Jeonghan and Seungcheol, recognisable anywhere, Jun sitting in the back where there’s less of a chance of embarrassing himself, and Jisoo sandwiched between Minghao and Mingyu so they can't kill each other and/or heatedly make out in the short span of time it takes for Soonyoung and Seokmin to recite their vows.

Mingyu pretends he’s not crying. Minghao doesn’t cry at all. His left eye sweats a little bit, and maybe his right eye also sweats a little bit, but that doesn’t count.

\---

The reception isn’t overly fancy in terms of space and decorations, but the _food_. Jisoo’s cake is the centerpiece of the dessert table, surrounded by Mingyu and Minghao’s baked goods, and Minghao dearly hopes it looks good. It’s not like he can tell. At this point, he wants to gouge his eyes out just seeing a pastry.

Mingyu has no such qualms and casually eats one of his own cupcake in two bites, buttercream frosting topped with a frill of rainbow M&M’s. He also puts the wrapper in his mouth after that, chewing with a bland expression on his face, oblivious to Minghao’s look of horrified disbelief.

“The _fuck_?” Minghao asks, accompanied by a punch.

“What did I do now?” Mingyu says, still eating the cupcake wrapper and looking highly affronted. “I’m just eating my food, is that not allowed?”

Minghao says, “You do know that paper is _inedible_ , right? I swear, Mingyu, how many hygiene issues do you even have—”

Mingyu jabs a finger into Minghao’s chest, and at this point they’re very very close together. “The wrapper tastes _good_ , Minghao, you’d know this if you didn’t have so many whisks stuck up your ass.”

“Did you just say that I had _whisks up my ass_?” Minghao asks disbelievingly, donning a smirk. “What kind of sexual fantasies have _you_ been having about me?”

Mingyu is saved from having to retort to that by Seungkwan getting up on the makeshift podium to deliver a teary, theatrical, possibly-inebriated wedding speech, followed by Soonyoung yelling out that Seokmin was the sun to his stars and that his smile was the only thing necessary to life.

Minghao is glad he hasn’t had any alcohol because he would’ve vomited.

The rest of the night is loose and hazy, Jisoo’s soundtrack blasting across the dance floor. Minghao gets up there and dances for two songs, Uptown Funk and Tomorrow Today, next to Mingyu— he managed to dab five times, which he is proud of— and then his knee whispers a reminder and he walks off. Mingyu follows, not asking any questions.

So perhaps, now, Mingyu knows that something is wrong. But Minghao is grateful that he doesn’t ask, doesn’t push it, just sits on the sidelines with him and tells him that he can see Jisoo dancing with Seungcheol and Jeonghan and they look happy.

“Oh, dude, they’re cutting the cake,” Minghao says, noticing a ruckus somewhere to the left. “Jisoo put so much effort into that thing.” Mingyu nods and makes a _hold-up_ sign with his finger. He jogs away and comes back with two slices on cheap paper plates.

Both their slices are from the second tier. Mingyu was responsible for it and as gorgeous as it is it makes him nauseous. He pokes mindlessly at it with it with a plastic fork, says, “How about we just skip dessert and just like… go get popsicles later?”

At this, Mingyu looks up, disgusted. “You have this beautiful cake and you wanna switch it out in favor of a frozen chunk of flavored juice?”

Minghao protests, “I’ve seen enough cake to last a lifetime, you’ve got to give me that, and— Mingyu are just _eating the frosting_?”

“Who doesn’t like frosting? Tell me you haven’t been guilty of eating it straight out of a Funfetti can with a spoon on bad days. I _dare you_.”

“That’s besides the point, and anyway, I also don’t wanna eat this cake cause it’s _you_ that made it, you’re probably going to give me food poisoning or some shit—”

Mingyu leans in and kisses him. It’s actually rather surprising that they’ve made it this far into the night without doing that already, given how up in each other’s face they are, and since they’re not exhausted everything’s a competition and Minghao yanks Mingyu in and focuses on making him fall apart.

It’s just, they’re in public, and when Minghao pulls away with his mouth slick and glossy he sees that Seungkwan’s dropped his glass, Seokmin’s staring wide-eyed, and even Jun has ceased his flirting with Wonwoo to waggle his eyebrows in a sign that means Minghao’s getting _so_ much shit after this wedding.

“I’m sorry, how much have you two had to drink,” Seokmin says finally. Then he double-takes. “Wait, you two are sober. What the fuck.”

“When did this happen?” Seungkwan demands. “How did I not know about this?”

“This is a dream,” Seokmin says, closing his eyes. “This is a dream. Right? You two hate each other. Oh my god, what if the enemies thing was a whole ploy and you guys have been having sex in the back room—”

Somewhere to the left Jisoo screams, and then everything really goes to shit.

\---

“Well,” Mingyu says, carefully, “that went well.”

It’s three in the morning and the wedding has finally ended, and Mingyu and Minghao are standing in front of a gas station, moonlight spilling across the curbs. Minghao decides that maybe he doesn’t hate nights so much anymore.

After Mingyu and Minghao had been forced to reveal the entire story— actually, there hadn’t been too much to reveal, given that they still hated each other, according t Minghao—Soonyoung rambled about installing a _no bakery sex_ sign and Jihoon raked in maybe a hundred thousand won in total from the bets he’d made.

“So, popsicles,” Mingyu says.

It’s overly cute and date-like but Minghao’s just been to a wedding and he’s _weak_ , so he twines their hands together and pulls Mingyu into the store. Mingyu stares at their hands and looks up with this absolutely dumb smile on his face, like he was really happy. Like Minghao had just given him the moon. They keep their hands together while they eat their popsicles, sticky with blue juice, and Minghao thinks that this is okay. Maybe they're not Soonyoung and Seokmin's level of perfect yet and they've got a shit ton to hash out, but they'll figure it out later. Minghao might not completely believe in happy endings, but he's got faith in that. 


End file.
